


We Build then We Break

by WinterIsComing



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bruce gets green, Call to arms!, Clint Needs a Hug, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, Implied Relationship, M/M, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Recovery, Tony isn't taking any shit, and its messy, natasha is a bamf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterIsComing/pseuds/WinterIsComing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't even know what this is ._.<br/>Headcannon and lots and lots of it. And feels. Lots of those too.<br/>There may be additional tags as this goes on just know that shit gets messy throughout this.<br/>Oh and 'Нажмите курок' means pull the trigger.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. The USSR Smells of Vodka

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is ._.  
> Headcannon and lots and lots of it. And feels. Lots of those too.  
> There may be additional tags as this goes on just know that shit gets messy throughout this.  
> Oh and 'Нажмите курок' means pull the trigger.

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov have a history, a history that runs unknown even to S.H.I.E.LD. They had crossed paths on the night Clint received his latest assignment; _terminate the Black Widow,_ and as normal Clint had no Issue with his latest mission. Clint knew of the Black Widow, he knew of her path and he knew that she had made quite a name for herself as a notorious assassin for the Russian Red Room. To any other S.H.I.E.L.D specialist, she was a force not to be reckoned with but Clint took that kind of knowledge in his stride. Clint was top of his game, he was the best at what he did and he had been assigned this mission for a reason. Although, Clint knew that capturing and taming the Black Widow would, of course, be in the best interests for the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division, he knew it wasn’t wise to go against orders. There was no room for debate; Clint had to track her, find her and kill her. There was no room for mistakes here. Clint had tracked down his target and was currently perched on a roof in the middle of the USSR, watching Natalia Romanova cough and splutter helplessly on the ground. She was in this condition on her own accord, she had her own collection of enemies who were gunning for her head; _that’s what happens when you disobey direct orders from the infamous Red Room,_ he thought with a scoff. However, it wasn’t Clint that had put her in this condition which meant they probably weren’t alone. If it had been Clint, it would have taken one arrow and she would have been down and out. _Permanently._

The USSR made Clint uncomfortable; let it be known that this place definitely wasn’t among one of his favourites. This place was crawling with spies and the place reeked of blood and death and _vodka_ and Clint didn’t like it. _Not one little bit._ But he was here because he had been specifically requested to handle the job so he slipped an arrow from the quiver on his back and took aim. He was about to let the arrow fly and his mission would have been over and he could go _home_ and he would have had his target not let out a harsh laugh. Although her voice was hoarse and she _really_ wasn’t in the position to be laughing at anybody right now, the sound still sent shivers down his spine. He hadn’t expected her to laugh and he _definitely_ did not expect her to start speaking. _Speaking to him._

“Do I not get to see the face of my saviour?” She said, finishing with a harsh cough, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the rooftop. Her voice was pained but it was still defiant.

“I don’t think you are really in the position for making demands, Miss Romanova,” but Clint slid down from his position nonetheless. He dropped to the ground silently a few feet before the crippled form of the broken assassin. She looked up and scoffed.

“After everything, my salvation comes in a _fucking_ S.H.I.E.L.D jumpsuit. If I know this is what waited for me I would have just let the embassy finish me off.”

Clint laughed at that humourlessly, “Well, Miss Romanova, you’ve been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for quite some time now and since you keep pissing off the board of Directors so much, it’s time something gets done.”

“If you lot stopped trying to kill me maybe I wouldn’t need to,” she retorted with a smirk.

“Yes you would. There is nothing rogue assassins love more that pissing of top secret Law divisions, well, nothing that is except for the actual killing itself. It’s a shame really you could have been such a great asset to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She scoffed, “Ha! You expected me to join you? Bite me, Agent.” She was coughing again, clutching the obvious wound on her stomach. The colour was draining from her face and she kept muttering in Russian. “ _Нажмите курок.”_

 _“_ It’s not quite a trigger I’m pulling but your wish is my command. _”_ Reloading his bow, he took aim. It was an essay shot at this distance, he could just let go of the string and everything would work out; he could pack up, get on the first plane out of here and be sitting in Coulson’s apartment watching reruns of Super Nanny with whiskey before sun up _. If he just let go of the string_. Clint had never had an issue with taking out a target before but with his other assignments Clint had never experienced the same level of respect that he feels towards this woman. He liked the rogue assassin already. She was exactly like she was before S.H.I.E.L.D had gotten their hands on him. _If only she was given a chance, she could be protected at S.H.I.E.L.D; she could be tamed and trained just like he was. She was valuable, in that there was no doubt._

“What’s the matter, Agent?-” she hissed through her pain, dropping her head down. Clint re-aimed his bow and let the arrow fly at the man approaching. _His breathing could be heard a mile off._ Clint heard Natasha take a sharp intake of breath as he let the arrow go, assuming that the arrow was still aimed at her. She clenched her eyes tightly shut. _This is it,_ she thought, _finally my torment is over._ With the dull thud of the heavily built Russian assassin hitting the floor, who had been approaching them for the past five minutes, Natasha’s eyes snapped open to glare at the S.H.I.E.L.D agent before her.

He knelt down in front of her and spoke softly, “I’m specialist Agent Clint Barton, Miss Romanova; let’s get those wounds cleaned up.” He scooped her up off of the ground, the blood escaping from her stomach wound spilling onto his vest but it was no matter at all. It wasn’t the first time. But for the first time, Natasha put up no resistance as she was carried off by the S.H.I.E.L.D agent.


	2. The Past is Always just Around the Corner

Things had looked better for the rogue assassin than they ever had; when she had arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D she had received a warmer welcome than she had at any point in her life. Word of her arrival echoed through the halls of the base and everyone who knew of her- _everybody, that was-_ steered clear of her and Agent Barton. After a heated debate between specialist Barton, Director Fury and Agent Phil Coulson, it was decided that she would stay and be trained as one of their own. After months of conditioning- _they broke her down, they rebuilt her-_  she was taken under the wing of Phil Coulson and he became he handler just like he had with Clint. In her first few years at S.H.I.E.L.D, Natasha was rarely sent out on solo missions but it was more often than not that she was paired with Agent Barton as he appeared to be the only agent in the field she would actually respond with.

 

Clint had learned how she was very quickly and eventually learned to take her ways in his stride. It wasn’t unknown that Natasha had a fiery attitude and developed a very cut-throat attitude at the slightest of threat. Natasha was not an open person and often didn’t show any emotion other than white hot anger which she usually aimed at junior agents or kept pent up until she could get out into the field. She was a hard nut with walls of stone built up around her to stop anyone getting in but over their years together, her walls crumbled a bit only to the agent who had spared her life. Feelings were a weakness they were something that could be used against her and Natasha wasn’t prepared to let that kind of power fall into the wrong hands. Her partner however hadn’t quite learned to cap a lid over his emotions. That made him a liability, not that Natasha had noticed this _characteristic_ until it was a little too late.

 

Director Fury had assigned them both to a mission in the North of Kazakhstan; the target was a business man who was neck deep in the illegal buying and selling of nuclear weapons. The mission was easy enough; break into the facility, kill the bastard, lock down on the facility and then turn the keys over to Fury and Agent Sitwell’s clowns to do whatever they deemed necessary. But the termination of Constance Muir; that was what was important. But that name… It was so familiar and Clint _knew_ it but he had no idea how. When they were debriefed, Natasha hadn’t missed Clint wince when the name of the target was mentioned, he hadn’t missed the pained look but she just elbowed him in the side to focus. She should have known better. _She should have known that they would be compromised the moment Clint set foot in that facility._

_“_ Jesus, Clint focus! _”_ Natasha hissed quietly, only loud enough for Clint to hear her and not loud enough to give away their position. They were currently making their way through the air ducts of the facility that the weapons were being held in, and where their target was milling about barking orders to ready shipments. It would be impossible to take down Constance from the air ducts without risking open fire in a room full of nuclear deterrents so they were making their way to Constance’s office and there they would wait for him to return. Their intelligence had reason to believe that they would only have a matter of minutes to wait before Constance returned to his office for his lunch break and so that was their plan and it would have been totally fool proof had Clint not decided to freeze up upon sighting the target.

 

They were tucked inside the spacious office, waiting patiently and had been for only a matter of minutes, when Constance entered. He was oblivious to their presence, or at least so they thought, but when he sat down at his desk and lifted his head to smile at Clint, they both knew shit was about to hit the fan.

“Clinton,” he greeted, “it’s so nice to see you.” Clint froze so Constance continued. “Don’t you remember me? Oh, I’m pained to hear that. After everything, Clinton, you don’t remember me?” Clint said nothing. Constance grinned, clasping his hands before turning to Natasha. “Ah and you must be his partner, the Russian assassin. Am I correct in my knowledge? Word of you joining S.H.I.E.L.D spread like wild fire throughout the USSR. It appears the Widow has been tamed, is that your doing?” Natasha was getting tense, Clint stood unresponsive to everything.

“Fuck, Clint,” Natasha hissed and Clint snapped his attention to her.

“Clinton, I can see that even as an assassin you don’t amount up too much. Back to face your demons,” Constance scoffed, “and even then you can’t even do _that_ right. Barney would be disappointed.” Clint glared at him and took a cautious step towards him.

“It’s your fucking fault that happened, it’s your fault he got caught. You told him- he trusted you! Jesus, Constance!”

“Clint,” Natasha warned him, “not now.”

“I do believe we have time. I’d say we have about ten minutes before my squadron arrives.” He added with a sickening grin.

“Well then.” A knife hurtled towards Constance but he _caught_ the blade with ease. Taken aback by the action, Natasha threw herself at him, catching him in the jaw with a swift right hook but her next attack he anticipated and he caught her fist. He twisted her right at such an angle what had Natasha cry out; _a trick Constance used on Clint many times._ Before Natasha could get a hold on the situation, Constance had her on her knees, her wrists held tightly in one hand and his other hand held Natasha’s knife to her throat.

“I hope _you’ve_ gotten better in your fighting skills or this won’t be very much fun at all.”

 

Constance had Natasha in his chair now, wrists and legs bound; she was too dangerous to let loose, Clint however… Once he had made sure Natasha was secured and there was no hope of an escape, Constance stalked over to Clint, who had slid down the wall, like an animal on the prowl. Whatever this guy had on Clint it had to be bad, Natasha knew that, because stupid things like kicking his dog didn’t seem like something that would make a specialist agent crumple in on himself. And this guy was _good;_ he had in the infamous Black Widow bound to a chair in a matter of moments. There were not many how lived long enough to do such a thing.

 

_Clint was terrified, there was no doubting that and Natasha was only a little bit angry but she could forgive him._

The puzzle finally put itself together in Clint’s head. “You knew we’d come. You knew S.H.I.E.L.D would come after you that was your game.” Constance pursed his lips, mischief dancing behind his hooded eyes. He nodded.

“My, my Barton. You may still be as weak as you once were but you’ve gotten considerably smarter. You’re going to ask me why as I assume your mind can’t quite fathom that. I’ll tell you Clinton; I want you to join me. An asset like you on my side would be useful and besides,” Constance ran a finger down Clint’s face, “we always enjoyed our time together.” Clint visibly winced under his touch and their history was coming a little most plain to see. Natasha had an idea, realising that there past friendship wasn’t on an entirely _professional_ basis. Clint’s jaw was set firm and he pulled his knees a little tighter into his chest. _Terrified._

 _“_ We all know that isn’t going to happen, Constance, I’d die before I’d take up a place at your side like-like- _”_

 _“Like you used to.”_ Constance finished for him. Clint swallowed loudly.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Constance. It isn’t like it was and it never will be.”

“It will especially if you want to keep your partner here alive. I’m not stupid, Barton, you always were easy to read. You’d rather submit than let any harm come to your… _Friend.”_ Constance’s laugh rung out through his office and Natasha thought Clint was going to hurl. This was getting bad and Clint _didn’t_ have this situation under control. She had to act and fast because she had an idea what was to come and she _would not like it._ This kind of emotional blackmail made her feel like she was still at with the Red Room. _Natalia Romanova was gone, Natalia wasn’t coming back._ All of S.H.I.E.L.D’s conditioning had pushed _Natalia_ out of her head, she wasn’t there anymore and Natasha had control, _for once in her life,_ over her own mind but just listening to Constance made memories of Natalia and the Red Room seep into her head and it made _her_ want to hurl. She had to stay focused because this was bad, _bad, bad._

A voice came from her earpiece quiet but firm. _Coulson. “Agent Romanoff get out of there now. Scrap the mission and leave the target. I want you and agent Barton out now. That is an order Agent.”_

 

Constance was in Clint’s face now and Clint was shaking. Constance was talking in a low voice now so Natasha couldn’t hear him but he wasn’t talking quiet enough and she could hear every word clear as day.

“You know, Barton, better than anyone, what I am capable off. I could break you so easily and you know it,” he growled and Natasha spied a letter opener on the desk and leant forward. Constance continued, “I can break her too and if I don’t, I have connections in the Russian Embassy that would be more than happy to do so. She’s a wanted woman, Clint. She’s dangerous and you know it, she’s nothing more than a loose cannon and she’s going to blow up in your face.” Natasha clenched her teeth. She had gotten the letter opener, it had been easy enough and she was working quickly on her bonds. She could only hope that Constance would keep his attention focused on Clint. “You know that getting involved with a woman of her demeanour-”

“You don’t know anything,” Clint hissed, his voice a little steadier, sharper, _clearer._

“ _Agent Romanoff, get out of their and leave the target. Get. Out. Now!”_

 _“_ Oh, but I do. I can see right through your front, I can see your infatuation and I _know_ that breaking her will break you. You’re still the pathetic little boy you were!” Constance snarled and raised his hand to bring down on Clint’s cheek. Clint knew what was coming, because knew _Constance_ and he caught his wrist and twisted it the way he had done to Natasha only his wrist made a satisfying crunch.

“You don’t know anything,” Clint repeated, much steadier now and Constance’s eyes widened. Clint’s other hand name contact with Constance’s sternum and he fell back. Clint got to his feet and noticed Natasha’s absence but carried on. Constance was still on the floor and he kicked him in the stomach. “I’m not fifteen anymore, Constance and I’m not going to let you pretend I am,” he punctuated every word with a kick to the other man’s gut. “I can take can take care of myself and now, now I’m going to get my revenge for all of the things you did to me. For everything you did to me, every fucking thing you did wrong by me, I’m going to bury an arrow in your chest for it. You’re sick, _twisted._ What kind of man takes pleasure from fucking kids, huh?“ A hand fell gently on his shoulder, _Natasha._

 _“_ Finish the job, Barton. I want to get out of here before I have the chance to disembody the bastard in every way I can think of with this letter opener. _”_ Clint took a breath to steady himself, pulling an arrow out and aiming night between Constance’s eyes.

“Barton,” she warned and he knew that she meant just by her tone; soft but firm. “Orders are orders. Now let’s get the fuck out of here before I decided to disembody the bastard in every way I can think of with this letter opener. _”_ Still Clint took aim but instead of aiming between Constance’s eyes he aimed at his right shoulder and let loose. Constance winced but only for a moment. _Just as resilient as always._

Constance smiled, speaking one last, “You won’t ever forget me, Clinton.” Natasha pulled Clint from the room before he had the chance to reply. She hadn’t forgotten that there was one of Constance’s squadrons on root and she wanted to get out of here before shit went even further south.

_Clint had a lot to answer for back on the plane._


	3. Everything Comes Easier with a Splash of Vanilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so this is known; this part of the story is taking place before the Avengers was put into action. The Avengers do come in just not now.

“What the _fuck_ happened back there, Clint? You could have gotten us killed! Did you not think it relevant to inform us that you _knew_ the target?” Natasha hissed as soon as they were off the site. Clint stared at her blankly and continued walking in the direction of the quinjet. “Christ, Clint,” she seethed. She was more than a little bit angry at him, that much was obvious. There was something off though and she knew it. In the years they have worked together, she has never witnessed the specialist act in such a way; caught off guard, speechless, _helpless._ Clint stayed quiet, not sure how to explain his past history with his partner. This only pissed Natasha further.

 

Clint walked ahead, losing himself in the horrible memories he had only recently been able to push from his mind. Why wasn’t he allowed to kill Constance? After everything, he wanted nothing more than to ram a blade through the bastard’s chest like Constance had done so many people. He had been compromised; _he should have killed him, the bastard deserved nothing better._ Clint had only been thirteen when he had met Constance and for a time, he acted like the closest thing to a father he and Barney had ever known. Well, that was until the abuse- Clint winced at the recollection of memories. He knew, though, only too well that he would have to explain to Natasha what had happened in their past; she’d never drop the matter and she’d involve Coulson and Fury and Sitwell and maybe even Hill until she got a reason and an explanation.

“Natasha, drop it. Let’s just get back to base and get through debrief; I’m sure I have a shit load of explaining to do any way. Coulson isn’t going to let this go,” he added with a sigh. Over the years Clint had become attached to his handler; Coulson had changed his life and Clint would never be able to repay him for all the times he’s covered his ass, for all the times he’s patched him up and pieced him back together. When he was younger there was only pain and punishment and then Phil appeared and that was all there was to Clint’s life; _Phil._

 

Natasha grabbed Clint’s arm in a bruising grip and pulled him to a halt. “You are going to answer me, specialist, or I am going to make a lot of things very difficult.” She warned. Clint signed and pulled Natasha in a different direction than they had been originally heading. They came to a small café; not busy but the noise of friendly chatter coming from inside was enough to stop people overhearing their conversation. They took a seat and Clint ordered two coffees; one with a shit load of milk in it and one with a splash of vanilla. _Natasha loved vanilla in everything._ Their coffee was set in front of them and Clint busied himself with the cup, Natasha staring at him intently. He sighed.

“What is there to tell? I know Constance and it was obvious he knew I’d be there. You know about as much as I do,” Clint tried. Defending himself from Natasha was not an easy trait and right then Clint was too tired emotionally to even attempt to put up a fight.

Glaring at him, Natasha pursed her lips, “You know that isn’t what I was talking about Clint.” She was right. Clint was tiptoeing around the facts. There was so much S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t know about his past, _even Coulson didn’t know._ He trusted Coulson like he’d never trusted anybody in his life, not even Barney, but he was afraid even to tell Coulson. _Barney just let it happen._ Clint squeezed his eyes tight and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Clint…” Natasha prompted.

“I knew Constance from when I was a kid. I was thirteen and Barney and I were doing what we could to get by. Barney got in deep with the wrong people, he- they said they would help us. Barney trusted them and I trusted him. Barney, he got involved in drug Lords, under the table weapon exchanges, _he got his hands covered in everybody else’s shit._ That- that’s when Constance comes in. He _came_ to us with a proposition; he’d help Barney, keep him safe and out of shit and in return he could use me for my marksmanship. Of course I agreed to because I had to help _Barney. It was for him._ Constance, Constance wanted me for more than my marksmanship. He, uh, he-” Clint buried his face in his hands. Natasha wasn’t the type for comforting others, she was the silent understanding type so it threw Clint completely off his guard when she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I was a kid and I thought that I was doing it for Barney. I thought- Constance told me that it was our secret and that if I refused Barney would be in trouble and that it would be my fault. But Barney got caught. Natasha, he got caught because of _Constance_ and I-I didn’t know what do so I ran because it was what I was good at. I was fifteen when he caught me and it all continued until I met Coulson. Coulson,” Clint smiled fondly at the memory, “he saved my life, he saved me from Constance and he knows that he changed my life for the better that night but I never told him why.”

“And now he’s back.”

A pained expression shot across his face, “Yes, and I- I should have driven an arrow through the bastard’s eye socket while I had the chance. _Fuck._ What the hell happened?” Clint’s voice was getting louder gradually and it was hinting closer and closer towards hysterical shrieking. People were beginning to pay attention to the pair of assassins. Natasha threw money on the table and stood, leaving their untouched coffee on the table. Clint looked at her, waiting for her answer. She pulled his arms and muttered one word to him before pulling him out into the street and into the direction of the jet. She hated Kazakhstan and it was time to leave.

“Coulson,” and Clint understood.


	4. Fuck You, Director.

Back on base, things were the worse than Clint could have imagined. Questions, accusations were all thrown his were and they weren’t from Coulson or Natasha or Sitwell. Even _Hill_ kept her mouth shut. Fury, however, was on war path. The moment the pair set foot into S.H.I.E.L.D HQ, Fury had given direct orders to have them escorted to his office at once. In his office, Fury paced the floor and Phil sat in a quiet, reserved rage at the Director’s reaction. _Phil wasn’t stupid and once intelligence informed him his team was in danger he pulled them. Intelligence knew more than they let on, of course, under direct orders from Fury. Of course._

 

The office door opened and specialist Barton was shoved in hap heartedly and Natasha escorted back to her room. Clint took in his surroundings quickly; he catalogued the room, took note of all the things Fury could possibly throw his way and the expression on Phil’s face etched into his mind. Fury turned his attention towards the marksman, rage seething behind his one good eye.

“Explain to me, Agent, what the fuck happened on that complex?”

Clint bit his lip. “We were compromised; the target knew that we would be there.” Clint replied in a cool demeanour. He couldn’t let his composure slip or risk telling the Director about his _relationship_ with the target. He couldn’t risk Coulson finding out.

“No shit! What I want to know is why you were pulled, why the target wasn’t taken care of and why my two best agents failed to complete a simple goddamn task! _Constance Muir_ , agent, is there anything we should know?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Bull shit.”

“Director Fury-” Coulson started from his seat in the corner. The Director raised an enquiring eyebrow at the Agent for his interruption.

“I don’t want to hear it, Phil. You’ve covered for his ass once to many times.”

“Opposed to what, sir? It isn’t my fault we were compromised. The target knew we were coming. Unless you’re implying I tipped him off?” Clint challenged and the Director simply smirked. Clint had hit the bulls-eye.

“That, agent, is exactly what I am implying. Intelligence told us of a past relationship between you and the target and the simple fact that the mission went south and the target made it away _alive_ doesn’t bode well in your favour.”

“Director Fury-”

“Fuck you, Director. That’s bullshit!”

“Is it? So you’re telling me you have no knowledge of the man?”

“I didn’t say I haven’t known the man but you think that because I _have_ in the past, before I even came to S.H.I.E.L.D, that I blew our cover to save that bastard’s life? That’s what you and you _intell_ team think? I’ve met circus animals with more intelligence, sir.”

“It is hard to know where your allegiance lies, agent.”

“Cut the crap, Fury. You’re only doing this so you have a reason to give to the board of Directors when the axe comes down on your head.”

“Agent, I’d be careful-”

“Director Fury!” Phil shouted from his place in the corner. The other men turned to the usually quiet man with bewilderment clear in their expressions. “Do I have your attention now? As I tried to tell you _before,_ I was the one that pulled them from the mission. My inside information informed me of a case of explosives being taken to the basement beneath the facility. The target knew that he was being tracked and he did in fact know that there was agents in his facility. He went in search of them and had given the order to his floor workers that they intended to blow the building sky high if things went south. The target had planned the situation and he knew that it would be specialist Barton set out to deal with him. Clint may have known the target but he had nothing to do with that explosion.” That set Clint back; _what explosion?_

“ _What? What explosion?_ Constance told us that he was expecting me, that much I knew but what explosion are you talking about?” Clint asked with a tinge of excitement in his voice.

“The complex blew up approximately ten minutes after you and Agent Romanoff got out. I lost my inside agent in the blast.”

“And Constance?”

“Dead.” Clint genuinely smiled at that. Coulson’s lips twitched at the corners but not enough for Fury to notice. Fury looked furious but he could do nothing but glare at the agent in the corner. Clint didn’t fancy sticking around long enough to hear how that argument would play out. It was time to take his leave and clean of the filthly feeling Constance left on his skin. _It felt like it was crawling._

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Anything else, Director?”

Phil stepped in before the Director could add anything. “That will be all, specialist. I’d like to see you in my office tomorrow morning at eleven hundred hours. Dismissed.” Clint nodded and made his way from the drab looking office; _Fury obviously wasn’t one for homey comforts,_ Clint thought as he left. Constance was dead, it was just a shame Clint wasn’t the one that got to end the bastard. He would have made him suffer a _lot_ more than he did.

 

Eleven hundred hours the following morning and Clint was standing outside Coulson’s office. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether or not to knock. It wasn’t surprising though, when the door opened to reveal Agent Phil Coulson standing before Clint in a neatly tailored suit, _as always,_ and a careful smile on his face.

“Good morning, specialist. Come in, please,” Phil gestured inside and Clint breezed carefully past him. Phil shut the door behind him and flicked the lock closed as always. Phil was a careful man and even here, in a high security organization, he was still cautious. Phil watched the younger agent with curious eyes. There was so much he didn’t know about the younger agent and yet, somehow he felt as if he knew everything there was to know. There was a sense of protectiveness towards him and it was hard for Phil Coulson to place. He wanted to know what had happened in the complex yesterday; he was concerned for his agent, for his health, for his wellbeing. There was something that wasn’t sitting right with the good agent Coulson and he had an idea that he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

 

Phil took his seat and gestured for Clint to do the same. Clint threw himself into the chair opposite and tossed his legs carelessly over the arm; he always felt most comfortable in Phil’s office. Phil put together his hands and looked to his agent, watching him as if it were the first meeting all over again. Clint had not been afraid then, even when he was bleeding out on the floor at the feet of agent Phil Coulson, he had laughed humourlessly at the offer of a position at S.H.I.E.L.D and he had refused medical aid countless times. It was Phil’s fault that Clint was bleeding, it had been one of his agents that had shot him but Phil took it upon himself to make amends. Rolling up his sleeves, he knelt down in front of the wounded agent and began to stitch him back together after, of course, he had removed the remnants of the bullet from his gut. Clint had tried to push him away, but the loss of blood and the approaching darkness made his attempts futile. Clint passed out shortly after and Phil lifted him, cradled him to his chest and walked with him in his arms all the way back to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ a mile and a half away.

 

The memory brought a fond smile to the senior agent’s lips and Clint looked at him funny as if trying to get a read on him.

“I was thinking of the time my junior agent shot you,” he dead-panned. Clint nodded knowingly, recalling the memory too or, at least, what he could remember of it. Clint’s face twisted into a more pained expression, something about that night obviously was something he didn't wish to recall. “Barton, do you need to see a psych again?”

“No I bloody well do not.”

“I’m not so sure about that decision agent. Agent Romanoff came to me last night and told me of your behaviour in the complex. She wouldn’t tell me why but I know it’s something serious. Now here is your options; you either go and see the psych I have on call twenty four hours or you tell me what the hell is going on. Your call, Barton.” Clint looked shocked, hurt and almost, _almost,_ betrayed. He had spoken to Natasha in confidence, but, no of course, nothing escapes Coulson. He sighed and remembered the last time Coulson sent him to the psych; the doctor ended up pinned to the wall with an arrow in his shoulder while Clint sauntered off down to the mess for some pots of jello. That, of course, didn’t end well. _Fury ended up covered in jello._

“That’s bullshit, Phil. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t recall giving you that as a third option. Now make your choice before I call the psych.” Clenching his fists tightly he sighed and dropped his head back on the chair.

“Okay, but I swear if this gets back to Fury I’ll make sure you can eat nothing but jello for a week,” he threatened and Phil smiled at the memory of _jello._ Something about telling this to Phil made this a lot harder and before Clint knew it there was silent tears running down his cheeks. Phil was the only person he had cried in front of and he would be the only person. “I was only thirteen when I met him…”


	5. The Start of something Horrific

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read this!  
> This chapter is a flash back of Clint's. It is of the first time anything happens between Clint and Constance. There is explicit sexual content and tags of rape/non-con are present. If you are of the weak hearted then don't read this. The story will still make sense without it. You've been warned.

_“You want this, Clinton. I know you do.” Clint shook his head, the movement harsh and broken. He was trying in a futile attempt to stop his shaking and to be able to string a sentence together. He had to stop this because surely they could come to a better agreement to keep Barney safe._

_“You want your dear older brother to remain safe don’t you? You wouldn’t want any information about his past being leaked and handed over to the wrong people do you now? Do this for me Clinton and Barney will stay under my protection and it will be all thanks to you. We could… Tell him about our little evening together afterwards. Don’t you think he’d be grateful?”_

_Shaking his head again, Clint choked out, “No, not to Barney. Nobody can know.” Constance nodded._

_Constance was close, dangerously close to Clint’s trembling body. Clint knew what was happening, he wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t so naïve, he’d been around enough to know what was happening. If anything, he knew it had been a gift that nothing like this had happened to him already. He was anticipating it. This is how people got their way._

_That didn’t mean he was prepared when the moment finally came._

_This is for Barney, Clint thought and he kept running that thought through his mind if only to make his easier for him. Barney may have been the older of the two but Clint was the more responsible and certainly the most mature. Barney jumped into things too quickly, trusted the people he shouldn’t and with him, it wasn’t just about staying alive it was about getting ahead. It was because of Barney that Clint was here, with Constance fucking Muir circling him like he was his cornered prey, wearing a tight smirk as Clint’s shaking became more and more uncontrollable and with each passing moment Clint hated Barney just a little bit more._

_This is for Barney._

_“My, my, Clint. Are you afraid? I’ll be gentle,” he told him, his voice sickeningly sweet. He made Clint want to hurl. In reply, Clint swallowed audibly. Constance stopped right in front of Clint’s trembling form and wrapped his long fingers around his waist with hand and with the other he reached out to stroke his cheek. He walked him backward until the hind of Clint’s legs hit the bed and he fell backwards onto it and Constance followed him down, covering the younger boy’s body with his own. “Promise,” Constance whispered close to his ear._

_It wasn’t five minutes before Constance went back on his word._

_Constance was kissing him hard, his lips bruising against his own and even if Clint had wanted to kiss back, the powerful, dominating way of Constance’s kiss left no room for Clint to do anything other than to receive it. Clint clenched his eyes closed and hoped and dreamed and prayed that at this moment his parents weren’t watching him from when they are. Clint lay still, body rigid and still shaking under the weight of Constance. He bit sharply into Clint’s lip and he let out a cry of pain into the older man’s mouth. He could taste blood now but at least blood was better than Constance._

_Constance slid his hand from where it was tangled tightly in Clint’s hair, down his body to the intimate place between his legs and squeezed. Clint let out a surprised noise and pushed against Constance, pulling away from the kiss and scrambling up the bed. His body was shaking worse than ever now and the tears were almost blinding him._

_He curled in on himself as he spoke, “No, no, I can’t. I can’t. Constance, please-” Constance pulled his body down the bed and spread him out before him with ease and towering over him he brought a sharp fist down against Clint’s cheek._

_“You can and you will and I won’t think twice in hitting you again, Clinton. You’re going to give me what I want or your brother is going to be facing some difficult times. Are we clear on how this works?” Clint nodded. “Good, glad that’s sorted now take off your trousers and lie on your stomach. I’m through with the games.” Clint stared for a moment, allowing his mind to process what was just asked of him. It only took him a moment out of fear of being hit again. Unsteady worked at his fingers as quickly he could but apparently he wasn’t working face enough for Constance because he pushed his hands away and pulled them down and off, tearing the hems with the force. His underwear followed in suit._

_On his stomach, Clint buried his face into the mattress as Constance relieved himself of his own clothes. He was back on him in an instant and there was an uncomfortable pressure at the cleft of his ass. Clint wasn’t under any illusion; he knew what was happening, he knew it wasn’t beautiful, he knew it was painful and messy and meaningless. Clint didn’t believe in love, never bought into the façade. He did know however, that he wanted to have sex for the first time in any circumstances other than the ones presented to him. He’d rather it anybody else._

_“Let this be a lesson taught for your defiance.”_

_And then there was a raw pain, a pain that Clint couldn’t contain and could do nothing but cry out and tense up his body. There was no preparation and no lubrication. It was raw and it was sore. Constance started up his on rhythm, hard and fast and the faster he slammed into Clint the more pain that spiralled through him. Above him Constance was grumbling and panting heavily and below Constance Clint was crying into the bed. For Barney. For Barney. For Barney. He thought with each inward thrust, wishing that this could be over._

_It wasn’t long before Constance was coming inside Clint and pulling out of the young boy. He ran a callous finger along Clint’s abused hole and smeared the blood and cum into the skin around then moved to dress himself._

_“You’ll be gone by the time I get back Clinton but you will be back in here tomorrow evening at eleven sharp. Don’t keep me waiting,” then he was gone and Clint relaxed into the mattress, crying out again at the pain the movement caused. He thought to himself, this is over. It’s finally over._

_Lying there with his body beaten, broken and torn apart, it wasn’t long before Clint realised that this was far from over._


	6. A Little Trust Goes a Long Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short chapter and I'm sorry for that. I just didn't know what else to say.  
> From the chapters to follow this one, the story moves forward to more recent times to just after the attack on Manhattan.  
> Thank you for sticking with me so far guys.

“Fuck, Clint. I-I-”

Clint had never found Phil short for words before and under any other circumstances he might have thought it cute. But right now Clint just felt raw and empty and exposed. He felt that the memories had just been ripped from him and laid out before Phil so he could see everything, so he could know what Clint had been through. Clint wanted nothing more than to take it all back, to not have fucked up the mission, anything so that he didn’t have to tell Phil and witness that pained expression on his face.

Ever since the night Phil and Clint had met, Clint had felt a bond with the older man grow and grow with each passing moment. Phil had cared for him like nobody Clint could remember, he had saved him from a past to horrible to willingly bring to mind. Phillip Coulson was Clint’s salvation and with each passing day he fell a little bit more in love with the man. _Not that Phil would ever know that._

Clint just sat in the seat side the filing cabinet, staring blankly not knowing himself what to say. It was the gentle had on his shoulder that made him aware of him surroundings once more and although he knew it was Coulson, he still flinched away.

“What could I have said to you? It’s not something that comes up in an everyday conversation.”

“Well, we aren’t everyday sorts of people.”

“I haven’t told anybody. It was only yesterday that I told Natasha out of fear she would break my jaw otherwise. It is not something I’m proud of, Coulson and it certainly isn’t something I want the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D and the board of Directors babying me for.”

“I understand your reasoning Clint, I just thought you knew me better than that. I thought you could-”

Clint cut him off. “Thought I could what? Trust you? Jesus Christ, Phil!” His voice had taken on a hint of hysteria and Clint’s composure was long gone now. “Of course I trust you. You’re the only one in this whole fucking institute that I trust. Sure there is Natasha but there is only so much I can allow her to know. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just didn’t trust myself enough to tell anybody. I was just a kid and he- he-”

Phil’s voice was soft when he spoke again, “it’s okay now, Clint,” he cooed. It wasn’t often that Phil called him by his first name but every time that he did it warmed the specialists heart just a little. Clint relaxed into the touch, comforted by the closeness of his handler. He was reminder of all the times Phil had patched him up, of all the times he had to drag him out of situations when a mission went south. He allowed himself to be lulled into a daze by the thrumming of Phil’s words. He was tired, his eyes heavy under the weight of recent events. They drifted closed. “You’re safe now. You should have told me Clint, you should have told me. I would have never sent you if I had known.” Clint was almost gone now; lost to the blackness, too tired to even try to formulate a witty rebuttal. He was on the edge of the darkness when he felt something warm and soft pressing against his forehead. It stayed for a moment and then it was gone. In his sub consciousness, he was sure Phil had just kissed his forehead.


	7. Night Terrors

Clint woke with a start, his heart slamming against his chest and his body and bed sheets drenched with sweat. He lurched forward, his arm curling around his knotting stomach in an instinctive manner before he made a break for the bathroom.

He only just made it to the toilet when he spilled the contents of his stomach.

He’d been dreaming again, something that had happened every night since he had broken free of Loki’s control over his mind. Every night he dreamt he dreamt of Constance. Clint’s stomach heaved again, causing his eyes to water and blur out his vision as he curled around the ceramic of the toilet bowl. The coolness of the toilet was a godsend against his clammy, feverish skin.

It had been a month now since the battle of Manhattan. Loki was in chains back in Asgard and Thor, too, was back in Asgard fulfilling his duties as prince. The clean-up of Manhattan was still in progress although with some help from a man in a gold-titanium suit and a huge green gamma monster, it had moved along notably faster. Tony had had his precious Stark Towers rebuilt and had insisted on the whole team moving in and so here they were.

Clint’s room was on the 128 floor with Coulson on the floor below him. During the battle, Phil had been taken down by Loki. Fury was the one to find him and he called it, told the entire team we’d lost the only thing holding the whole team together. The team fought harder than they thought possible because they weren’t fighting for themselves, for the planet, for the sake of mankind. They were fighting for one man; Phillip J. Coulson.

The lying bastard that Fury was.

What he had failed to mention was that Coulson’s heart hadn’t really stopped beating and in actual fact they had taken him to the med bay of the ship. When Clint found out- and he only found out because he saw Coulson in the med bay when Clint was under orders to get his wounds cleaned up- he punched the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D in the face.

Clint choked into the toilet again. He was shaking again, _when had he started shaking?_

To anybody else on the team, they wouldn’t notice the difference in Clint’s behaviour since the battle, since Loki had played him around like a little puppet. Not even Natasha had noticed and if she had she hadn’t said a thing. No one had noticed the permanent grey tinge his skin had now, they hadn’t noticed how Clint often skipped his meals and rarely stayed in anyone’s company too long. Clint was happy about that, for sure.

The problem, though, was the dreams. They just wouldn’t stop and when he forced himself to wake from they, the events that immediately followed where similar to what was happening right now.

Constance was plaguing his mind. Clint felt like he was 13 again.

_“You want this, Clinton. I know you do.” Constance bit down hard into the sensitive skin of Clint’s neck._

Clint spluttered into the toilet again. He was under an attack of the memories; every night he was presented with a different memory, a different horror that had him waking up in sweats and spewing up his stomach lining.

“Jarvis, time?” Clint choked, barely audible even to his own ears but he knew that Jarvis would hear him regardless.

“It is 03:47, Agent Barton. Is all well? Shall I wake Doctor Banner and request his presence?”

“No, no, J.”

“Very well, sir.”

Clint didn’t want anybody’s company; he would deal with this by himself. He’d done it every night for the past month now, he’s manage another night. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He did want company but he only wanted that to be the company of Phil.  He knew Phil would come if he asked but Clint didn’t want to ask.

 

The next night Clint woke again but this time his stomach wasn’t so unsettled. He stayed in bed taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself but the images just wouldn’t leave him.

_Constance forced him down to his knees and pushed him forward over the bed. Behind Clint Constance knelt leaning just forward and kissing his back, making Clint shiver involuntary. If Clint had been paying any attention he would have made note of his positioning, the particularity of Constance’s placement this evening. He would have noticed he was facing the door. But instead he focused on the pattern of the blanket in front of his face as there was a familiar pressure against his ass. He started rhyming of the fibonacci sequence in his head as Constance pushed in, anything to take his mind off of what was about to happen. Then there was the pain, that uncomfortable pressure inside him that he wished he could make go away. He couldn’t and he knew it. The last time he fought again Constance, he had broken his foot. The pain and the raw force combined had Clint crying into the mattress until, that was, the door opened. Clint’s head snapped up and he tried to blink away the tears to see who the intruder was, who it was that had seen Clint in such a state with Constance fucking him. The tears cleared and he saw Barney with a clip folder in his hands staring. There wasn’t any shock in his expression though._

_In fact Barney was smiling as he spoke, “I knew it,” he said as his grin broadened. “I knew you two were fucking. Ha! Brachi owes me fifty dollars.” Clint couldn’t even formulate a reply to that. He though Barney would be disgusted, he thought he would disown him if he found out. He thought Barney has a little more human decency than that. Constance grunted behind him. He hadn’t stopped when Barney had entered. “Anyway, Constance, I brought those files you wanted.” Barney put the folder on the bed in front of Clint. Constance groaned and cursed under his breath as he shot into Clint’s ass._

_He pulled out of Clint as he spoke, “Marvellous. That will be all.” Barney left without a second glance at Clint._

_No, apparently Clint was wrong; Barney had bet on him._


	8. So Much for Deadlock, J

Phillip J. Coulson could be called a lot of things, many of which he could be called due to his involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D. There was however one thing that Phillip J. Coulson was not; stupid.

He had been the handler to Clint Barton for years now and during such time Phil had become somewhat attached to the younger man. It wasn’t something that was at all common, Phil thought one night when lying in bed, to become so attached. Of course, handlers became fond of their squads and they might get a small case of the sniffles should anything happen to any of them but, in this line of work, people died.

Phil was a little more than surprised that Clint had lasted so long.

From the very beginning, Clint had been problem for S.H.I.E.L.D. He didn’t like rules and he certainly didn’t like restrictions and when Clint tumbled rather precariously into the hands of Director Fury, that’s exactly what he was faced with; restrictions. Because how is one supposed to be reckless and follow the rules? Clint would be damned if he knew. But Phil had Clint sussed out from the very beginning. He learned quickly that Clint, however he careless he came across to somebody, was one of the most careful agents in the entire division. Clint wouldn’t settle comfortably in a room until he had catalogued all of the possible routes of escape, until he had sized up every inhabitant of an area, and even when he had done that he always had his bow within reach in case things fucked up which, more often than not, they did.

Clint was _always _on defensive mode.__

So it was because of this that Phil now lay awake, staring blindly into the dim light engulfing his room. It had been a month since the attack on Manhattan and something besides the obvious had changed. There was a noticeable change in the younger agent, not enough for any of the team to notice but enough for Phil, who had known Clint since he was but a teenager, to notice. Clint, Phil had learned, enjoyed his solitude. He avoided people because he had a very short fuse. But Clint had enjoyed being a part of the Avengers, he felt like he belonged to something like a family, something Clint had never really got the chance to know. Clint would go out with the team for drinks and to boost PR, he’d take part in the games nights and one night he even allowed Pepper and Natasha to give him a pedicure. Since the attack though, he was nothing like that. He avoided everybody, he was skipping meals and most days had Jarvis lock down his floor to keep them all away from him. Not even Natasha had clearance to his floor.  
Something wasn’t sitting right with Phil, so he’d taken it upon himself to do something about it. He’d have Jarvis monitor him since he’d noticed the change and he’d learned Clint hadn’t been sleeping. Jarvis had told Phil that he had offered to call Doctor Banner for assistance but every time Clint had refused.

Jarvis had woken Phil again this evening to tell him that Clint had woken up.

Acting against his better judgement, Phil slipped out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown and slippers and began making his way towards the lift.  
“Jarvis, I want access to Clint’s floor. I don’t want any arguments and Clint isn’t to know. Got that?” The elevator door opened in reply and made its way to Clint’s floor the moment he was through the doors.

There was an eerie silence on Clint’s floor, the room was flooded with a darkness that washed menacingly over the furniture and there was no sound throughout the apartment apart from the muffled sound of somebody throwing up. Phil hurried onwards towards the bathroom, his slippers padding softly on the carpeted floor. Stopping in the kitchen, Phil filled a glass of water and took it with him. The door to the bathroom was open, light leaking through the open door and spilling out onto the carpet. Curled over the toilet bowl, clad in nothing other than boxers, was Clint who hadn’t heard him enter.

“Clint,” Phil spoke softly in an attempt to try not to startle him. He failed. Clint pushed away from the toilet bowl roughly and moved back towards the wall, his hand grasping for anything he could use as a weapon. He found a tooth brush and a hand towel. How threatening, Clint thought.  
With a short and humourless laugh, Clint hissed at the AI under his breath, “So much for deadlock, J.”  
Phil ignored it. “Clint,” Phil said again, kneeling in front of him and taking the toothbrush and hand towel from his hands. “It’s just me, it’s okay. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”  
An array of emotions passed across Clint’s before eventually his face set into one of the most pained expression Phil had ever witnessed. The younger agent was a master at keeping his emotions in check, never let them slip by the mile high wall he’d built around himself. So, naturally, Phil felt a little out of his depths. He’d never seen a hollow man before but this would be how he would imagine one to look. Up close, Clint looked older, his skin seemed duller and his eyes, sunken, looked as though they were a thousand years old. Clint lurched for the toilet again but this time Phil was there.

Clint wasn’t alone and this time, for the first time in a long time, he was okay that.

Once he had managed Clint to calm down and his stomach settled, Phil helped him back to bed. He slid him under the covers and sat beside him on top of the blankets. Clint hadn’t spoken at all and to the older agent it was more than a little concerning. He had been right to keep an eye out on the younger agent. Phil knew intervention was needed and he knew exactly how to play Barton.

“You’re on medical leave until further notice.” Phil’s tone was final, leaving no room for an argument and Clint simply nodded. “I’m not going to send you to the psych but you’re going to see Doctor Banner in the morning.” More silence. “Talk to me Clint,” Phil pulled him against his shoulder and Clint crumbled. Clint couldn’t remember the last time he was held so tightly, like a lifeline. Like he, _Clint Barton, _was something to someone. Like he belonged. The revelation was enough to bring down the last crumbling bricks of his mile high defense.  
“Stay, Phil,” and he was crying but if Phil ever asked him about it Clint would never admit to it. The last time Phil had seen Clint cry it had been all those years ago after that mission with Constance Muir. Constance was Clint’s childhood demon, the kind you checked in the closet for before you went to sleep, the kind you were afraid were going to attack you from under the bed.__

Constance Muir was the only successful person to break Clint Barton.

But Constance was dead. So what on earth was doing this to Clint.

Yes, Constance Muir was the only successful person to break Clint Barton until now. Phil was a bastard and Clint would be damned if he’d ever admit it but he needed Phil  
then. Phil was his lifeline, now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Phil promised, rubbing circles into his shoulder subconsciously. “Try and get some sleep-”  
Clint went rigid, “I won’t, I can’t. He’s there. He won’t let me sleep.” Clint’s voice was wavering slightly and there was a hint of hysteria.  
“Who won’t, Clint?”  
“Constance.” For a moment Phil squeezed Clint that little bit harder, just for that fraction of a second. There was fear even in Phil’s mind; fear for Clint. He knew about demons and he knew they were what the mind portrayed them as. It was what Clint’s mind made them that scared him the most. The silence from Phil apparently encouraged Clint to continue speaking and once he started there were few ways to shut him up. “I’ve dreamt about him every night since you brought me back. Every night now for a month. He’s always there, every time I close my eyes. And the dreams, they get worse every night. Every night it’s an even more horrific memory than the last. It’s in my head all the time, he’s under my skin. He’s gone though so I don’t understand why I’m worrying. I’ll never forget though, how can I? It’s just never been this bad, Phil-”  
“Clint, _calm down.” ___  
“How can I? I-” Clint lifted his head from its spot against Phil’s chest to look at him, there was a wet spot on his dressing gown from where his face had been. Their faces were mere inches apart.  
 _“Clint-” _  
“No, Coulson. How can I-”__

And Phil shut him up. Clint’s argument stopped immediately. 

_Phil had kissed him. ___

__He hadn’t known what else to do. Clint just wouldn’t shut up. And Phil had thought that he had made a huge mistake, because how could he be so stupid? But after a few moments, Clint kissed him back. There were no fireworks, and no spark at the contact. It wasn’t special. _But it was nice and homey and comforting and it just felt like something so familiar to Clint that he held on to Phil like a lifeline because if he lost Phil, what did he have? _The kiss was slow, careful, delicate almost but there was an edge of desperation, of fear of falling. Phil’s hand moved to cradle the back of Clint’s head to deepen the kiss momentarily before pulling back and for a long moment they both stared at one another in silence, waiting, pushing the other to make the first move. Clint spoke, to Phil’s relief, and the hysteria was gone. His eyes were still pained and his skin still looked taught and uncomfortable like he didn’t quite belong but his eyes, it was his eyes that spoke volumes; they held a world of truths behind them. It was plain to anyone as long as you knew what to look for in those misty grey eyes._ _ __

__“Stay.”_ _

__

__And Phil did. He toed off his slippers and his dressing gown and slipped under the covers besides Clint. He held Clint in a tight embrace, listening to his soft breaths even out and he watched as dawn began to wash into the room. He thought it would be about time to be getting up and ready for work soon but Phil wouldn’t go. Not today.  
For the first time in Clint’s entire life, he slept soundly. He didn’t dream once and it was bliss._ _


End file.
